A Brother Alive
by ardri1224
Summary: Germany, taken prisoner by the Allies at the end of WWI, is visited by France. France, who means to hurt Germany because of his sadness over the death of his brother, makes an unexpected discovery. Oneshot. Germany is HRE, slight HRE/Chibitalia and GerIta, as well as brothers! France and Germany. I forgot a disclaimer inside but I don't own this.
Germany was chained to the wall in the dungeon, sorry, _prison._ It still seemed fairly dungeon-like to him, with very little light, gray stone walls, and a barred door. He had been in the room for several days. He knew peace was being settled among the other countries. He, the loser, would ultimately have no choice but to sign whatever unfair and humiliating treaty they would write.

Germany heard a creaking from the door and the clicking sound of a key being turned in the lock. He hoped it would be someone with food because he was getting very hungry. However, a smirking France was the one who entered. Germany internally groaned and outwardly maintained his stoic poker face.

"Not so happy now, are you, Allemagne? Not so much of the not so much of the marching and the cavalry and the _invading my country_. I much prefer you like this - chained up and quiet."

"Come to gloat, Frankreich?" Germany replies, matching France in tone. "It must be a novel experience for you to be on the winning side."

France slapped him. Germany's head was knocked aside with the force of the blow. "And you the losing one, Allemagne. You know, your predecessor was the same way: a cocky little boy who thought he could rule the world. You look sort of like him, actually. My little brother also had blonde hair and blue eyes. His name was the Holy Roman Empire."

"Please, tell me about your whole family tree," Germany, though tired and injured, managed to retort sarcastically. (He knew it was a weak comeback but he had to say _something._ )

France punched him this time, not breaking his nose but bruising his cheekbone and probably blackening his eye. France shook out his hand. "Oh," Germany positively drips with false sympathy. "That looked like it hurt." France's other fist split his lip.

"Are you finished?" Not giving Germany a chance to respond he continued. "Holy Rome's empire grew and grew. He lived with Austria. Italy was madly in love with him." He saw Germany's upset expression before he could hide it. "That must hurt, knowing your crush who fought against you in the war doesn't love you."

"I never said I loved him," Germany protested. He didn't want to hear about Italy's first love.

France slapped him again. "Oui, but I know about these things. Now stop interrupting my story or I'll gag you."

"Holy Rome was a rising star. He was on track to become the greatest empire in Europe, though still just a child. So I forced my brother to go to war against me. I was the older, stronger nation. I stabbed him in the heart and made sure he would never go back to his darling Italy." France began to cry a little, silently. "He faced death bravely. His last words were, 'I'm sorry I broke my promise, Italia."

They sat in silence for a bit. Then France spoke. "And you, you took my brother's land, you were the one who crushed on his first love, you were the one who took over his life and made him obsolete." He began to punch Germany in the chest, the stomach, anywhere he could reach. Germany doubled over in pain. "Then what did you do, but attack my country, soldiers razing the fields, killing millions of my citizens, and you supporting them." After a few more blows, Germany crumpled to the floor, only supported by his chains. "Get up and take it like a man." France ordered.

"You know, a real man would fight one on one, not beat up a prisoner," Germany wheezed.

France yanked Germany up and his worn undershirt ripped off. His body was strong but also covered in many scars. Most noticeable of all was a huge white slash over his heart. France staggered a bit when he saw it. "What's the matter, France, lost your nerve?" Germany goaded weakly.

France ignored him and said in a completely different tone, "What do you remember of your childhood?"

Germany was confused but saw no reason not to answer. "I don't really." Prussia took care of me for the past hundred years. He took care of me, told me that my name was Germany and he was my big brother." He shrugged, then winced as pain shot through him. "He always said he'd tell me more when I got older, but I'm still only a hundred or so. Besides, we've both been busy recently. Actually, I remember one thing from before Prussia. Well, it's sort of faded – like the memory of a dream." And indeed, his voice takes on a dreamy quality. "I was lying in a field somewhere. The sky was a beautiful clear blue and the poppies were brilliant scarlet as I lay dying."

His voice trailed off and France realized he had fainted. Despite the blood and grime on his face, he looked so much younger asleep, with his hair out of its severe, slicked back style. "My little brother," France murmured. The enormity of what he'd just done hit him. Not only had he almost killed his brother before, he had chained him up, beaten him, and only just negotiated the signing of a harsh and brutal peace treaty. In fact, he was supposed to be bringing Germany to sign it right now. The other countries had already witnessed it, as well as human dignitaries. It could not be undone.

France hurried to get a med kit and patch the German up. "What happened to us, little brother?" he said sadly. He heard steps on the stairs down to the prison. "France," England hollered. "Why don't you have Germany up…" His voice trailed off as he entered the room, saw the unconscious Germany and the tears on France's face. "What happened, France?" He inquired impatiently. Without waiting for an answer, England strode over to Germany and slapped him till he woke up. Germany moaned as he came to, but quickly assessed the situation.

"Germany, it's time to sign the peace." Germany stood up to be unchained and attempted to brush himself off. England tossed him a clean shirt. "Come on, now," England said pointing at the exit with his pistol.

As he regally made his way out the door, despite having a gun poking his back, he spoke to France. "I remember everything from my past. I forgive you. We can talk more later."

"He won't forgive me anymore after he reads the treaty," France said miserably to an empty room.


End file.
